


What You Seek Will Find You

by purpleinkblot



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Kisses, Romance, cuteness, soft, some racist discussions by minor characters that get punished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 19:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleinkblot/pseuds/purpleinkblot
Summary: Cullen reflects on his heart's desires, and comes to the one thing he wants the most.





	What You Seek Will Find You

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The creator of the OC Imryll Lavellan asked me to focus a scene on the issue of colorism in the DA universe. My thoughts and feelings do not reflect the bigotry found in this fic.
> 
> Commission for cullenvhenan on tumblr. Rebloggable version here: https://marabrosca.tumblr.com/post/177650063369/what-you-seek-will-find-you-cullenlavellan-fic

It was uncomfortable to see a chantry half full, Cullen decided. He couldn’t remember a time where he and his family would attend a sermon, and be joined by only a dozen people. The chantry in his youth accommodated with every seat and then some, as many late arrivals would continue to listen to the Revered Mother’s litany whilst standing in the back by the front door. Having the room be so scarce, having so many pews be empty, made the ceremony feel far more serious and intimidating than intended.

 

It was here that Cullen would be fulfilling his dream of joining the Templar Order, taking his vows and swearing to protect Thedas at the behest of the Andraste Herself. He peered over at the towering statue of the prophet, Her pyre burning brightly but expanding no more light into the room than a few candles. He felt himself shrink into his armor, picking nervously at his embroidered skirt as Andraste’s stone eyes bore into him. It was a dull service he had to admit. A withered old chantry Sister recited the Chant Of Light in an almost monotone voice, pausing every few lines to include the sacred blessings given to those joining the Order.

 

Cullen had practiced his vows more times than he could count. There were formal promises to make, but they came strictly with a list. When he had been given the list, the scroll lay heavy in his hands. The gold ribbon around it had made it seem as resplendent as the Chantry’s interior, and no less important than the impression it made. Each Templar was to choose their own vows, their own honest promises to the Maker.

 

_Everyone is different, and we are all here for different reasons. But now we join as one, and must do what is expected of us. Therefore, it is the responsibility of one who chooses to walk the path of sacrifice, to pave the road they walk on._

 

It was something that was repeated to him in the upcoming weeks of the ceremony. There were many ways, as it turned out, to prove one’s faithfulness to the Maker. There was fasting, sacrificing of material goods (not that Templars had many personal items to begin with), excessive prayer, public preaching, and at least ten other things that Cullen could remember. There was only one that gave him pause: chastity, and the detachment to romantic relations, even within marriage. Cullen felt weak for admitting it, but the idea of a future in solitude wasn’t exactly appealing. Not that it was supposed to be. The idea was that a Templar-to-be would set aside personal desire and focus solely on duty, devoting themselves entirely to their service.

 

But Cullen saw no reason why he couldn’t do both. A part of him, a part he hid from others, was enamored with the idea of marriage. He’d caught himself many times dreaming of the day his soul-mate would enter his life, accepting the promise to live in each other’s hearts. It was indulgent and juvenile, but he wondered if perhaps one day he’d be in chantry taking entirely different vows than the ones he would proclaim that day. As far as Cullen could see, there were no obstacles in finding someone who was Andrastian. They’d have to be, wouldn’t they? Followers of the chantry and the Maker filled every space in Ferelden, and certainly he wouldn’t be traveling far from Kinloch Hold after the ceremony. Frankly, there was no reason to worry.

 

The young man heard his name and he stood, almost too quickly, and shuffled out of the pew, making his way to the Revered Mother. She looked at him with a kind smile, and he bowed his head in response. The woman’s hand hovered above him, pausing.

 

“Have you prepared your promises to the Maker, accepting His blessing as a holy child and servant of Andraste?”  
  
“Yes.” He replied firmly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

 

-

 

Decades had passed since that day, disappearing like a dream interrupted by daylight. At no point would Cullen expect anything he had experienced, or where he was now. Snow crunched under his boots as he surveyed twenty new recruits to the Inquisitor’s forces- the _Dalish_ Inquisitor – yet they served just as devout to the chantry as he had once been. An uncomfortable, heavy force weighed on him at the thought; a reminder of his skewed mind from the past. It was a part of him he didn’t want to forget, so that he would never become that man again. He didn’t, however, want it to swallow him whole. That part was harder.

 

Two of the newest recruits, George and Elliott, were sent to fetch a requisition officer that had been surveying the Storm Coast for some time. The men seemed eager, and promising, and gave off an air of charisma that delivered a boost in morale. Soon enough they returned with the aforementioned officer. She was a tall, lanky elf with pale skin and large, striking emerald eyes. Her black hair fell to her mid-back, lips pink and puffy in the cold. Cullen greeted her politely, taking the missives from her hands as she smiled pleasantly at him. The officer followed Cullen to the desk planked beside the staircase extending from the ramparts. He didn’t miss the almost pungent smell of perfume on her, but made no comment. The commander settled the forms into a neat pile, getting ready to turn to his scouts, when he looked up and noticed that she was still standing there. He cleared his throat when she did not have anything to say.  
  
“Thank you, Deanna, for going out of your way.”  


“No problem at all, Commander.” The elf smiled at him, folding her hands behind her back.

 

“Ah…was there something else you needed?”  
  
Deanna twirled a finger through a lock of hair, her cheeks turning pinker than before.

 

“Actually, I was wondering if you were busy tonight.” She replied, eyeing the desk quickly before settling her sights on his face. George and Elliott watched the sight, impressed with their Commander’s obliviousness to her body language.

 

“As it happens, I am very busy tonight,” Cullen answered, turning and handing the papers over to a scout without pause. “There is still much work to be done if Skyhold is to ever be inhabitable. And I fear the most difficult challenges are yet to come. Why? Does something require my attention?”  
  
Deanna’s smile sunk to her knees with her shoulders following suit.  
  
“Um, no, it was nothing. Thank for your time, Commander.”  
  
“And you, as well.” Cullen responded with a nod, watching the elf turn and make her way up the stairs.

 

-

 

As busy as the ex-Templar seemed to be, he had set some time aside that evening to have a walk down the ramparts with Inquisitor Imryll. Soon the easy stride had turned to a pause, then to a conversation, then to a kiss. It was clearly unplanned and unexpected- quite the opposite of how Cullen had always carried himself- but there was no doubt in the way Imryll held onto his back and caressed his hair, that she didn’t object to it.

 

Gossip spread like the Blight within Skyhold regarding the Inquisitor’s supposed “dalliance” with the Commander. A couple of messengers and guards that had been making their way by wasted no time sharing the tale of what they had witnessed, or exaggerating it.

 

“It was a sweep of passion! He grabbed her and they nearly dipped as if they were dancing!”  
  
“I wasn’t that close, so I couldn’t really tell, but Ser Rutherford appeared very harsh with our Lady Inquisitor. Do you think he treats all his women that way?”  
  
“She hypnotized him with blood magic, I swear!”  
  
The only things the tales had in common was that a kiss was involved, anything else could not be answered, much to the disappointment of the staff who were almost growing bored of the mundane. When the news reached Elliott, he was quick to share what he heard over a drink on the grass with George, who turned his nose up in disgust.  
  
“See that, I just don’t get.”  
  
“What’s not to get? You don’t know what a kiss is? Do you revolt women that much?”  
  
“No, smartass.” George took a swig from his flask before continuing. “I don’t get how someone would, ya know, go for an elf. Does he seem like the type? And _that_ elf on top of it- what’s next, a Qunari?”

 

Elliott let out a cackling laugh, almost catching his lip between his browning teeth. “Not your type, eh?”  
  
“Not anybody’s _type_.” George tried to adjust himself on the ground, reaffirming his seat in the same spot once the dizziness ceased his actions. “At least you got- at least you got some lookers here, right? Like that one from before…that, uh, Deanna. Them ones with the big eyes and the curves and all- and have you ever seen an elf that was so dark?”  
  
“Not before the Inquisitor. Her eyes are black, did you notice? Do you think she’s blind?”  
  
“I thought all elves were ivory and lanky and- where did she even come from?”  
  
“Somewhere up north.”  
  
“Up north, bah.” George, not heeding the warning his body gave him before, took another large gulp. “If you asked me, I’d kiss an ogre any day before I’d even think about kissin’ her. She wouldn’t-”

 

Before he could finish his ramblings, a pair of hands grabbed them both from behind, lifting them by the collars and onto their feet. George almost vomited, feeling the searing burn shoot up his throat at the assault. Both men turned sharply to be met with the fiery eyes of their Commander. The men could feel their faces turn numb and a pulse beat in the back of their skulls. Elliott dropped his mug without thinking, licking his lips in an attempt to speak.

 

“Commander-”

 

“I don’t want to hear another word.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Not. One. Word.” Cullen’s teeth stuck out starkly against his reddening face.

 

The recruits gulped, bugged-eyed as George swayed slightly from the alcohol. Cullen’s gaze locked onto the mug spilling yellow liquid onto the grass. “I see that your night of leisure has given you loose tongues.”

 

Cullen pondered what kind of punishment should bestow them. Perhaps they were to be bound and brought to the Inquisitor on her throne, and beg at her feet for mercy after confessing their crimes? The idea was enticing, but it was likely the display would embarrass Imryll, and he needn’t put more on her shoulders regarding her reputation. Besides, she hadn’t heard the words herself, so why hurt her feelings? No, that simply wouldn’t do. They needed to learn a lesson…a long-term lesson.  
  
Without warning Cullen grabbed them by the collar again and pushed them both face-first into the dirt.  
  
“You will clean this mess, and then pack your things. At dawn, you will be deployed to the Hissing Wastes, where you will remain until the hole in the sky is _welded_ shut.”  
  
The Hissing Wastes was the most miserable landscape in Thedas Imryll had ventured to that he could think of. It was a constant scorching mass of dry air and sand, flipping the coin completely when all was frozen over at night. Only the most hardened travelers could tolerate its climate. It was a long-lasting punishment for a crime that could permanently scar having landed in Imryll’s ears.

 

Without another word Cullen turned on his heel and walked back to the fortress, ignoring the groaning coming from behind him. As he moved out of sight, Elliott wobbled down to pick his mug off the ground, and George let go of all the liquid courage in his stomach that had sealed their fates.

 

-

 

Days had passed since the new blood of the Inquisition seemingly vanished overnight, but Cullen’s hands still upturned into fists at the memory. He hadn’t been there when they were carted off, but it was reported right before that they wished to beg forgiveness. Cullen dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand and went back to his business like he was the only one in the room. He scowled, eyeing the ground with intensity as not to scream, a look that caught the eye of the curly-haired elf standing across from him. She walked up to him before he could react, kissing the knot between his eyebrows. All at once he melted, tense muscles going loose for a brief moment as he looked up. Her smile was concerned, and he felt his face relaxing as not to worry her further.  
  
“Are you alright?” she asked, grazing the back of her fingers along the side of his face, leaving goose bumps in her wake.

 

“Yes…I’m fine.” He let out a breath, willing himself to calm down. His hand reached up to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. It made them both blush, and Imryll’s fingers curled in his grasp.

 

“I had been wondering this for a while,” she started, not pulling away from his hold.

 

“That day you kissed me on the battlements…how long had you wanted to do that?”

 

Cullen couldn’t help but let out a laugh, smiling despite the heat in his cheeks. Her tone wasn’t mischievous, merely curious. A part of him advised against telling her; it was unprofessional at the very least to admit that he had wanted his lips on hers not too long after meeting, before Skyhold, even. Despite not being the best of friends at the time, Cullen found himself gravitating towards her, and desired her approval for more than just reasons regarding their duty.

 

He smiled sheepishly before finally answering her query.

 

“Longer than I should admit.”

 

-

Springtime scarcely differed from winter when it came to living on a mountain. Everyone still wore furs up to their noses and the courtyard was rarely full. Merchant deliverers unloaded their cargo as quickly as they could before ducking into the tavern. Orlesian noblewomen paraded their flower-adorned shifts about, calling attention to their “eye to detail”, modeling their appearance after the Skyhold garden. This, in reality, was meant to turn attention away from their unseemly reddening noses each time they needed to lift their mask and cough into a handkerchief.

 

Despite this -and despite her own hatred for the cold- Imryll could still be found tending to her plants- the ones that would survive the elements. She frowned as she lifted a limp stem with her finger, disappointed she wouldn’t be able to expand her alchemy skills just yet. Vivienne had warned her it was too early to start studying potions that required foliage, but in an effort to impress her, Imryll had tried it anyway. And now she was thinking of a way to dispose of the dead roots without embarrassing herself.

 

The sound of familiar footsteps behind her turned her attention away from the frozen soil, lifting her mood in an instant.  
  
“There you are. I was worried you’d still be out here.” Cullen sighed.

 

“Oh, yes. I was seeing how things were going,” she replied, gesturing to the frozen soil “Don’t tell Vivienne.”  
  
Cullen chuckled and removed his cloak, draping it over her shoulders.

  
“You’ll catch cold out here.” His touched his forehead with hers, watching as she scrunched her nose at the tickle of the wind.

 

“Walk me back?”  
  
Imryll guided them the long way around, entwining her arm with Cullen’s. Halfway there her legs had “gone completely numb from the cold”, and their only solution was to duck into an archway that housed a small stone bench. The elf laid her cheek on the part of his armor still covered by cloth, and sighed as his fingers glided down her arm.

 

“Feeling better?”  
  
“Not yet,” she replied, moving ever closer into his arms. Cullen held her tighter, making the Inquisitor smile. Her soft, round cheek was squished up against his chest, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. The atmosphere was too serene to believe. The moon now overshadowed the sun, leaving the walkway empty aside from them. Imryll gazed out at the greenery that still grew around them. But Cullen’s eyes were transfixed on her. In these escaping moments of peace, he found himself wondering what he would do in the future. If she survived- _when_ she survived the impending battle with Corypheus- what would he do? He had been only a child the last time he lead a normal life, even though nothing for him would be truly normal again.  
  
Would she go with him? Would she go back to her clan? His stomach coiled at the thought, as selfish as it was. He wouldn’t blame her for returning to her people when this was all over, but surly he could not join her. The Dalish didn’t welcome humans as passersby, let alone a _human lover_. What if she left him? Did she not feel as strongly about their relationship as he did? Would she have to choose?

 

And more importantly, how would he declare the choice _he’s_ made?

 

He couldn’t imagine a life without her. Despite the hardships and horrors he’s endured, having Imryll walk out of his life would be the breaking point. His gaze solemnly drifted to the bare blackness of the sky, subconsciously tightening his grip on Imryll.  

 

“Cullen? Is something wrong?” she asked, lifting her head.

 

“Oh- I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”  
  
“No…” the Inquisitor waited for an answer to her question.

 

“I think we should go back inside. I’m sure you’d be far more comfortable with warm tea in your bed, wouldn’t you say?” Imryll perked up at the thought and reluctantly sat up to stretch.

 

“Will you be joining me?” Imryll asked over her shoulder, half flirtatiously.  
  
“If my lady wishes so.” Cullen responded, chuckling and standing to join her on the walk back to her quarters.

 

“I do. But is that what _you_ want?”

 

 _What I want…_  
  
Without warning the commander hoisted her up into his arms, leaning his head down to kiss her lips. She let out a yelp before laughing, slapping lightly at his chest as he carried her through the garden.  
  
Wind brushed roughly against the pathway flowers, sending a few white petals into the air, catching onto Imryll’s curls. Their white littered the stone, creating an almost snowy effect as he walked. They went unnoticed by Imryll, who was too distracted reaching up to playfully peck at her lover’s chin.

 

What he wanted…

 

He knew now more than ever.

-

Imryll had taken some time to teach Cullen threads of Dalish before, but nothing like this.

 

“ _Sylaise enaste var aravel_ …”

 

The sound of her native tongue caressed his ears. Everything in that moment disappeared except for her; and although he couldn’t understand the words, he felt them in his heart. He wanted her promise to be true, and he trusted that it was.

 

“I swear unto the Maker and The Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

 

As the words left his lips, they connected with hers. Perhaps he should have waited until Mother Giselle made the official decree, but he couldn’t wait another moment.

 

The kiss ended with the faint tickle of Cullen’s breath against her lips. His nose stayed atop hers, soft chestnut eyes barely open beneath his lashes. It was their first kiss as a married couple, a term they could barely comprehend. Cullen sighed blissfully, capturing the moment in his mind down to every detail as the setting sun painted them in golden light, as if the world turned just for them. Imryll’s skin blended with the rays. Her eyes reflected, but were not illuminated by the shine, creating a stark clear surrounding of white around the onyx that seduced him so many times.

 

 

Imryll took but a single step before she was whisked off her feet. A surprised yelp quickly turned to giggles as her husband hoisted her into his arms in a true bridal-fashion. Mushy bounced excitedly at Cullen’s feet and wagged his tail, attempting to angle himself so that he could leap up to join Imryll.

 

“Blasted-get down! I can’t hold the both of you.”

 

Imryll laughed joyously, taking her lover’s face into her hands.

 

“How long have you wanted to do that?”  


Cullen smiled down at her.

  
“Longer than I should admit.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> FANFIC COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN if you're interested here's more info: https://marabrosca.tumblr.com/post/175160160009/opening-da-fic-commissions


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